The Bus
A young man walk’s up to me, and I notice bad ink, all over his face. Oh an encounter with some disenfranchised excon; now I can die.
He point’s at the tear drops “Do you know what this mean’s?” He say’s proudly.
“One of us got caught, now step back before I smoke you like Marlboro.” He looks confused, and walk’s away. I’m still a radge.